


By the Cuff of Your... Wrist...

by GentleTisiphone



Category: Emma (2020), Emma - Jane Austen
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Fluff and Crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:20:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26923510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GentleTisiphone/pseuds/GentleTisiphone
Summary: A brief soulmate AU for Emma.. from the perspective of George Knightley.
Relationships: George Knightley/Emma Woodhouse
Comments: 15
Kudos: 246





	By the Cuff of Your... Wrist...

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I did this. It's utter crack. I hate myself right now

George Knightley had no soulmate.

It wasn't uncommon for a boy to be a number of years older than his match, thus not receiving his mark until he was five, ten, or even twelve years of age.

But at sixteen years of age, George truly believed he was one of those rare unmarked souls.

Though society praised such people, declared them fortune for not being bound to whim of fate or circumstance, he could not help but disagree.

His parents had been soulmates, his brother had matched at three years old with Isabella Woodhouse and had enjoyed her companionship since childhood.

And George Knightley was alone. 

There were horror stories of course, told to gently bred children, of disparate matches. Of how matching names did not mean everything.

But in truth being matched to someone tended to make them your perfect match, thus their situation tended to be perfect for you as well.

Some matches were better than others of course, but he had never heard of someone being unhappy with the match. Perhaps the person, but not the circumstances.

He had wanted that for himself. He had dreamed of that for himself. And when he became resigned to his unmatched state, he mourned the loss of that dream by himself.

Then one morning in high summer, very early, before even the first glow of dawn on the horizon, George woke to a burning on his wrist.

He scrambled out of his bed, tripping over the blankets as he rushed to the window. 

In the pale light of the moon a decidedly feminine signature wrote out _Emma _.__

__He had a soulmate._ _

__By the light of a summer moon George Knightley wept in joy._ _

__But... sixteen years._ _

__He was sixteen years older then his soulmate._ _

__Then his Emma._ _

__How long would it take to find her? To meet her?_ _

__It didn't matter, he decided. He would wait, as patiently as he was able._ _

__There was no way he could go back to sleep now._ _

__He resigned himself to being awake for the day._ _

__In the meanwhile he carefully wrapped a cuff around his wrist. Obscuring the beautiful, delicate script. He had taken to wearing such an accoutrement years ago, if only to keep others from noticing it's absence._ _

__But now he finally had a reason to cover his wrist._ _

__George Knightley had never been one to share his personal business with anyone else, and he determined, after some thought on the matter, to keep Emma's existence to himself for the time being._ _

__Hours later, when the sun had risen and he had dressed, he made his way downstairs._ _

__Surprisingly, his mother was waiting for him._ _

__Eleanor Knightley was a woman of delicate health, and since the passing of her own soulmate two years prior, her inclination towards frailty had increased._ _

__George truly believed it was only the concern for her sons which kept her bound to this world._ _

__Today though she was radiant with joy._ _

__"George! I am sure you have not heard so I will have the pleasure of telling you myself, Mrs. Woodhouse safely bore her husband a second daughter very late last night -or perhaps it was very early this morning?" She shook her head with a grin. "It matters not! Little Emma Woodhouse is healthy and hale and sure to be a credit to her family!"_ _

__So happy was Mrs. Knightley for her neighbors that she did not notice her son's reaction to her own statement. But by the time she again gave him her full attention his face was a mask of neighborly pleasantness._ _

__Inside he could scarcly catch his breath._ _

__Two days later they called at Hartfield to wish their best to the household and family._ _

__While John and Isabella had spirited away to walk the gardens and his mother was talking quietly with Mr. and Mrs. Woodhouse, George made his way towards the nursery and the newest member of Woodhouse family._ _

__Emma Woodhouse was much pinker and much smaller than he expected._ _

__She had a shock of blonde hair upon her head and for a moment her unfocused eyes blinked up at him and seemed to lock onto his own. They were dark eyes that seemed to be somewhere between slate grey and dark blue._ _

__George remembered John's eyes being a similar dark color before they turned a warm brown._ _

__Looking about to make sure no one was near, he tentatively brought a hand to her own and touched her knuckles lightly with his forefinger._ _

__With jerking motions her little hand clasped onto his and George felt something within him slot into place._ _

__Emma._ _

__This was his Emma._ _

__He had no doubt._ _

__Around her little wrist there as already a small lace cuff, and George resisted the urge to look for himself at what lay beneath it._ _

__Not that looking would matter. Everyone knew that newborns born with marks only had illegible smudges on their skin, and only time and growth revealed the name of their soulmates in full._ _

__Making sure he was still alone he carefully picked her up from her cradle and held her in his arms. Leaning forward he pressed a kiss to her forehead._ _

__"Emma, dearest one, we are a long way off you caring at all who I am to you, but I swear I shall be whatever you need me to be whenever you need me. If you should be unhappy and it is in my power to resolve you troubles I shall, if you are in need and I can aid you I shall."_ _

__And Emma, his sweet, little, newborn soulmate promptly spit up on him._ _

____

*********

Time marched on and both George and Emma grew.

George left for school, taking every opportunity to better himself for both his estate and soulmate. And Emma grew into a effervescent girl, full of energy and wit.

Both suffered the loss of their beloved mothers he first, but she soon after. 

And if one day he chanced upon the young girl crying in Hartfield's shrubbery and took the time to pull her into his lap and hold her until she fell asleep, or convinced her that her new governess, Miss Taylor, would be a wonderful addition to her home, then no one need know.

He grew into his role at Mr. Knightley, the Master of Donwell Abbey, he became the county magistrate, their siblings married, and all the way George Knightley staid a constant and steady presence in Emma Woodhouse's life. 

He led her through moral exercises, brought her books, questioned her opinions, and prompted her through her lessons and struggles. Trying to make sure she had all the support and guidance she needed.

She was so smart, so clever, and though he was not blind to her faults, vanity and stuborness first among them, he loved her all the same.

And one day, enough time had passed, that Emma put her hair up and left the nursery.

It had long become a habit of Knightley's to join Mr. Woodhouse and Emma for dinner each evening, then to sit with them until the Master of Hartfield retired for bed.

That evening, after he handed off his coat and hat at the door, he strode confidently into the home of those who considered an extension of his own family, and he was struck by the image of Emma, now sixeen, with her hair up. It was curled, braided, and twisted into the style of a young gentlewoman.

From that moment onwards he kept himself at more of a distance from Emma, though it broke his heart.

It was one thing to comfort and nurture a child, but altogether another to foster such closeness to a young woman out in society.

Around the same time he received a letter from her thanking him for a birthday gift and the signature was identical to the one on his wrist.

Sixteen, he told himself, was far too young a soulmate for a thirty-two year old gentleman.

He would not admit it to anyone, but in the dark of the night he often reminded himself that though his wrist read Emma's name, in Emma's hand, there was the chance that her wrist did not read his own.

He never wrote her with his christian name, any correspondence between them was signed off as Mr. Knightley. And he knew he was a coward for doing so.

Emma was both his sweetest joy and greatest trial. She argued and quarreled with him, teased him, laughed with and at him, and even when she was stubbornly sticking to a point and he was gone mad at trying to bring her to see reason he could not help but marvel at her.

She was so lovely, so passionate, so very clever.

All of Highbury bowed before her. There was no one who would naysay or deny her. 

Somehow that role fell to him, though he rued it. 

But he could not countenance letting her grow up a spoiled chit with no thought for those around her.

They, both of them, had been born to great privilege. And Emma, who's heart truly was good, could not be allowed to grow to be less then her potential.

**********

When Miss Taylor married and became Mrs. Weston, George Knightley felt the change like a storm coming in.

He considered himself an even tempered man. And was often praised for his good manners and good nature.

But he had come to believe that if he never heard the name Frank Churchill again it would be too soon.

He did not know if it was his jealousy, but he suddenly found himself unable to read Emma's emotions or manage her moods.

Before it was merely a matter of a compliment or a tease to set her off in the direction he desired, but now he felt as if he was struggling to keep his head above water in an advancing tide.

It was a busy year for Highbury, there was the mess with Robert Martin and Miss Smith, the marriage of Mr. Elton, the arrival of Mr. Churchill, and the return of Miss Fairfax. 

But for George each of these events was punctuated with turning points in his relationship with Emma.

He spent days after the ball at the Crown Inn haunted by the memory of her hands in his own, warm and soft. They had shed their gloves for dinner, but the cuffs about their wrists remained.

Would that he had the fortitude to ask her who's name she bore!

Then watching her wander Donwell, and imagining her there with him, the mistress of his domain.

And the disaster at Box Hill! 

Good God, he still could not believe his sweet Emma had spoken so thoughtlessly.

Or that he had been so stringent with her...

He knew she had a good heart, he knew she was weary from the ceaseless veiled insults of the Eltons and the hopes of the Westons. But he had reprimanded her so harshly- he was sure he had seen the tears in her eyes as her carriage pulled away.

He was man enough to admit he wept at the thought of them.

And then of course he heard from Mr. Woodhouse how she had been to see Mrs. and Miss Bates for multiple days hence, humbling herself in penance.

All of it came to a head when Mrs. Churchill died and the secret engagement of her nephew and Miss Fairfax came to light.

Rushing to Hartfield he espied Emma, wandering the grounds, seemingly at a loss.

"Emma!" She startled at the sound of his voice.

"You have heard the news then?" She asked.

"Time, time will heal your wound, dearest Emma," he assured her, catching her hands with his and giving them a gentle squeeze.

She blinked at him in confusion. 

"My wound?"

Moments before George had planned to console her in her sorrows and offer a shoulder to cry upon. But this dry eyed maiden did not look in need of a shoulder.

"Do you mean time will settle my temper?" 

He, in fact, did not mean that, but he did not think it wise to say so.

"Frank Churchill abused many of my dearest relations and myself in his playacting, and though I know I have been no great friend of Jane Fairfax, I cannot imagine what pain it must be to have a soulmate so unconscientious of her suffering!"

She took a calming breath then, with the same weight she might give an observation on the weather, commented, "I count myself fortunate to be bound to you, much better to have a soulmate with a level head and a strong sense of propriety."

The staggering feeling which overtook him was identical to that morning he woke to her name upon his skin.

"Bound to me- you knew?"

She gave him a slightly concerned stare, "While you may have always signed your missives to me as Mr. Knightley, all your official documents and those sent to the household read George Knightley." 

He stared at her, uncomprehending.

She gave him a look of great pity. 

"I have been mistress of Hartfield since I was fourteen Mr. Knightley, and have been privy to such papers for years. I had thought that give the disparity of years between us you were perhaps waiting for me to reach an age where a relationship of a more romantic nature would be more appropriate."

The longer he remained silent the less assured she became.

"Mr. Knightley, if I am mistaken-"

Any following words were lost as he pressed his lips to hers. 

When air became a pressing issue he broke away, sometime during their embrace his arms had wound about her waist and hers had wrapped about his neck. She was at something of a loss for breath and her cheeks were tinged a most attractive shade of pink.

"We must talk about this at length," he said, mouthing kisses along her jaw and down her neck.

"Yes..." She agreed, tilted her head back with a sigh.

"We will need to discuss when we shall announce our match and when we wish to marry." He had found a spot just under her ear that seemed to make her shiver when he put his mouth upon it.

"Absolutely." 

"You're placating me." He pulled away from her neck to give her a glare.

The look she gave back was all innocence. 

"I would not do that anymore than you would rile me up to start an argument for your own amusement." She replied.

He gave her a smirk.

"Then I know you're placating me."

Her look of indignation was radiant. 

"I knew it." She hissed. "I knew you sought out reasons to quarrel with me! I have half a mind-"

He did not give a chance to finish telling him what she had half a mind to do. Instead he swallowed her words and hoped he could turn her passion to a more enjoyable outlet.

Later, as they sat in the shade of the garden he removed the lace cuff from her delicate wrist and felt warmth wash over him as the sight of his name, written in his hand upon her skin. 

He pressed a soft kiss to the dark letters and at Emma's request removed his own covering so that she might see her mark on him.

It had taken him until sixteen to be marked for his soulmate, it had taken two days for him to meet her, and another twenty-one years for him to find her.

But his Emma was worth every moment.

**Author's Note:**

> I am trash. I can't believe I just wrote and posted this.
> 
> It's unbeta-ed. It's written on my phone. I can't even bring myself to check for typos.
> 
> I swear I have something more serious in the works, I just want to get another chapter written before I start posting.


End file.
